The First Christmas
by torri.oats
Summary: Olivia and Fitz share their first Christmas together.


Christmas has never been her favorite holiday. Not since she was 12 anyway. It seems so long ago since she awakened to the thrill of running downstairs to see what Santa left under the tree. By that age, she knew he wasn't real, but there was something magical about the belief and it's something she held onto for as long as she could, until her mother died and the magic disappeared with her.

Throughout the years, her routine, though fine tuned here and there, became automatic. The day after Thanksgiving, she grabs her laptop, along with the gift ideas she's noted throughout the year, and buys for those on her growing Christmas list. She doesn't expect anything in return; she never expects anything in return. But, she undoubtedly receives packages from those she's helped over the years, and as nice as the gestures are, they are just things. Just meaningless things in her increasingly meaningless life.

She thinks and hopes that each year will be different, something she'll never admit to anyone, but the years blend into one another. Each is a painful reminder of what she doesn't have. Going through the motions. Pretending. A skill she's mastered.

As she sits in her office, her mind wanders to Pastor Drake and Anna, and all the Christmases they never had together. As the other woman, Anna may have had his love, but not the moments, not the memories she so longed to have. Olivia shakes her head, willing herself to focus on the case file in front of her; willing herself to think of anything but him and all that they don't have. All of it is futile, so she closes the file, leans back in her chair and lets her thoughts take over.

She opens her eyes which wander to her two cell phones with lie side-by-side, silently begging one to ring and the other not to. This is likely how she will spend Christmas day, waiting for him to call, the long silences, the feeling of calm that washes over her when she hears his voice. She has no hope for anything else.

"Hey Liv, you gonna stay in here all night?" She gives Harrison a small smile as she looks him up and down. He's so carefree. Suspenders down, sleeves rolled up, top buttons undone. He is drunk.

"You guys go ahead without me." He shrugs as he closes her door. Though it's soft, the closing of the door, that is, it sounds like the clink of a prison cell.

She shakes her head as she tries to snap herself out of this funk long enough to socialize with her remaining Gladiators. She misses Huck. He was too far gone to be saved. Putting his hands on her was one thing, but leading Quinn down the wrong path and then torturing her, was too much to forgive. He had to go, though she was able to secure a space for him in an upscale psychiatric facility. One last act of kindness, or was it mercy? She hasn't seen him in weeks. It's too early in his treatment, she's told, for him to have any visitors. So, he, like she, is alone, their paths forever intertwined.

But, Harrison and Abby are doing well. Quinn, well, she's undergoing extensive out-patient therapy, and looking at her now with the others, in the conference room with a celebratory hat on her head and a smile that has no beginning or ending, she's doing just fine. As Olivia watches the three of them interact, she can't help thinking of the challenging year it's been with them. She can only hope that 2014 will be kinder.

This is it. Her family. Laughing with each other. Smiling. Having a good time. There are no worries this year and despite leading them down the wrong path in 2012 and into 2013, they seem to be healing. They're all making progress, including her.

It's almost 9:00 when she walks into her apartment, exhausted. It wasn't a busy day, from an OPA perspective, scandals seem to have remained at a low level, something she attributes to the holiday season. Her exhaustion comes from her racing thoughts, the stress of yet another Christmas alone; thoughts of how different life should be for her.

She takes her time walking to the hallway closet where she hangs her coat with the utmost care. She makes her way to her bedroom, where she slowly removes her shoes, and returns them to their rightful home in her closet. Then, she goes into her en suite bathroom, where she washes away the day's makeup and bacteria and any other germs she may have picked up along the way. It's all habit. It's all just the motions she's going through.

When she returns to the living room, holding a cell phone in each hand, she falls heavily onto the couch. Lets out a sigh. Wishes. Waits. She's not sure how long she's been sitting there when there's a soft knock on the door. There's the familiar lurch in her stomach, a wave of excitement as she rushes to answer it.

"Ms. Pope, the President would like to see you," Tom says, smiling kindly at her.

She thinks, for a moment, of saying something smart in return. But she doesn't. She wants to see him. She needs to see him and maybe this Christmas will be different. Maybe it will change the tide of misery she's associated with the holiday for the majority of her life. "Do I need an overnight bag?"

Tom shakes his head. "He said he has everything covered."

And she knows he does. This thoughtful, intelligent, beautiful soul of a man manages to think of everything, even when she can't. Especially when she can't.

The helicopter ride is short and as the house, their home, comes into view, she smiles to herself. It's wide and rare and carefree; all things people would regularly not associate with Olivia Pope. She pays more attention than her last trip. Sees the acres and acres of orchards. The pool. The greenhouse. All of it so unique and so...them.

As the helicopter lands, she has to hold herself back. Take a deep breath and force herself to not run toward the entrance like a child. She is, after all, a grown woman. A grown woman whose spirit has been awakened by a love she dreamed of but never thought possible.

She takes a snapshot in her memory of this moment, of him standing in front of the enormous sliding glass doors, waiting for her. Smiling. _This is what home feels like_.

She takes in his appearance. The sweater that clings to his chest. The way the sleeves are rolled up just high enough to give her a perfect view of his forearms. The way his pants are perfectly tailored to hug all the right places.

"Get your mind out of the gutter," he whispers as she walks past him and into the living room with a hint of mischief in her eyes.

He follows her, nearly running into the back of her as she stops dead in her tracks. It is the reaction he's hoping for as he wraps his arms around her and pulls her closer to him. "Merry Christmas, Livvie," he whispers in her ear, kissing her on her neck.

It must be ten feet tall, the tree. Completely decorated in shades of gold and white, her favorite colors. It is then she notices the scent of fresh pine and she breathes deeply a couple of times. It is a sight to behold and she is nearly speechless, managing only a breathy "Fitz."

She turns around in his arms and kisses him, unhurriedly. Unrushed. She wraps her arms around his neck as she puts all of herself into that kiss. The pain of the Christmas holiday that's haunted her for most of her life, is released in that kiss. It says everything she can't. That she misses him. Wants him. Loves him. Most of all, it says that they are indeed in this together and this kiss, with no beginning or ending, tells him that she is his.

He nudges her, so she can look around at the rest of the decorations. The garland that adorns the railing around the upper floor, and banister leading to the first. The wreaths and Santas of different nationalities placed throughout. She raises an eyebrow and he says, "I'm trying to be politically correct."

"I see that."

He whispers in her ear, "Look up." And she does. And she sees it...them. Mistletoe. There was no escaping it really. "I believe you owe me a kiss, Ms. Pope."

She smiles as she turns and kisses him, sliding her fingers through his hair, pulling his head closer to hers. She slips her tongue into his eager mouth, and teases him by taking it right back out. They haven't kissed this way in awhile. So leisurely and playful; so uniquely them.

The crackling wood in the fireplace interrupts them. "Here, give me your coat," he says, "have a seat and I'll check on the fire. Have you eaten anything other than popcorn?"

"No tonight."

"Good." he says from the hallway where he's hanging her coat.

She takes the opportunity to really take in the changes that have been made to their home since the last time she was there. The furniture and piano are uncovered. Furniture is re-positioned. Little touches here and there have been added. Like pictures of them. Like the vase she once admired on one of their many campaign stops. And the handmade throw pillows she fell in love with at another.

Her eyes follow him as he stokes the fire, adding another log. Then, to the kitchen, where he opens her favorite bottle of red wine, pouring two glasses, then rejoins her. "You're breaking out the good stuff."

"Only for you." He kisses her as he takes his place next to her.

"Where are the kids?"

"Jerry is skiing with friends. Karen is with Mellie's parents. She'll be home tomorrow."

"And Teddy?"

"With Mellie."

"How much time do we have?"

Then, it's back. The real world intruding on them. Their reality that there is a world outside of them, around them and beyond their control. He is married. He has children and no matter how much they love each other, their moments are still stolen. A day here. A day there. Only dreams of forever.

He doesn't answer her question. Instead, he pulls her up from the sofa and tells her to close her eyes. Without hesitation, she does, and lets him lead her to the kitchen. He feels her cheekbones rise as she smiles. "Are you cheating, Ms. Pope?"

"No, but you better hurry up before I do."

He positions her in front of the kitchen sink, takes one more look to make sure everything's in place, then says, "Okay. You can open them."

She looks in front her her, then down, and sees a sink full of berries. To her left are canning implements. To her right, a large pot, sugar and pectin. He uses his hand to left her head, so she's staring at the ceiling, and he kisses her exposed neck as she realizes she's standing underneath even more mistletoe.

"You do realize that the whole jam thing is more aspirational than literal. I can't cook."

"Livvie, I know things between us aren't easy. I know we don't have a life together, not yet, but we have incredible moments and those moments are what keep me going. I know one day it will be easier for us. We may never be able to make good 'jam', but I know we _will_ have an amazing life together. And it _will_ get easier. And we _will_ spend days and nights making love here, building our family." She turns her head ever so slightly, and he can see the unshed tears shining. "I love you."

She gives him a peck. "Where do we begin?"

"Damn it. Fitz, it was supposed to boil, not burn." She takes an appraising look of the mess they've made. She lost count of how many batches of jam they'd tried to make, but messed up in one way or another. Then, she looks at herself, at her berry stained sweater and slacks, and back at Fitz, who gives her an innocent smile. "Don't give me that smile, Mister, you're in trouble."

He laughs as he opens the refrigerator and grabs a jar of freshly made jam and presents it to her. "You can't accuse me of not planning ahead. He unscrews the jar and dips his finger inside, offering her a taste. She jerks her head away.

"I don't know where your finger's been."

"When has that ever stopped you?" She blushes at the mere thought of some of the things he's done to her, and she's done to him. She opens her mouth and he slips his finger inside.

"Mmm, who made this?"

"Would you believe me if I said I did?"

"Nope."

"The White House chef."

"That, I believe." She grabs his sticky hand and leads him away.

"Where are we going?"

"You're giving me the grand tour."

He takes her from bedroom to bedroom, some of which are empty, but all have a view. He tells her he wanted to leave some decisions up to her and their future and the children they will have. The bathrooms are magnificent, each its own spa with heated marble bathroom floors. Connecting offices for the two of them, separated by a wood burning fireplace. Hers, an exact replica of OPA. His, smaller, quaint, masculine with walls filled with history books. A door leading from one space to the other.

There is what he calls a future playroom. Tells her to close her eyes and imagine the laughter of their children. See them running around, chasing each other. He describes how the room will grow with them. How the built-in bookshelf will have hidden toy storage, and how the toy storage will morph into desks one day. He talks of the big screen television they'll have, complete with all the latest video games. And she sees what he's describing. And they're happy.

He saves their bedroom for last. It's almost a separate wing of the house. It's the creamy white that she loves and rich maroon and silky gold. They've had many conversations about color palettes, when they've discussed their future, and he memorized every single one.

He takes her by the hand and leads her around the space. Pointing to little touches here and there. Taking in her features as he describes one thing after the other. He leads her to the window and tells her to stand there while he grabs the remote. He returns to his place next to her, presses the "Open" button, and watches her expression transform to awe.

Her eyes are immediately drawn to the acres and acres of their lighted orchard, a different view from that of the helicopter. She gasps. This is what she'll wake up to every morning. Someday. "There's more," he whispers into her ear.

"What?"

"Look down."

It's a pool and a pool house; an outdoor kitchen and a patio designed for a large family. Plenty of seating. A fire pit. It is perfection.

She turns and kisses him, wrapping her arms so tightly around his neck, he struggles to breath. She starts pushing him toward the bed and when he feels the mattress, he pulls away. Puzzled she asks, "What?"

"One more surprise."

"Fitz-"

"Just one more."

He points to the headboard and that's when the tears start. It's made from local wood, he explains. When she looks closer, she sees the story; their story. Casual eyes would think the states so carefully carved into the wood represent something Presidential. Perhaps his roadmap to the White House. But they knew differently. They know New Hampshire was the first state carved into the wood because it's where they met. And Georgia is next because it's where they shared their first "one minute" moment in a deserted hallway and first made love. California is where she first admitted to herself that she was in love with him. State after state was linked together, leading to Vermont. That is their present and future, where they will raise their family and grow old together; it is where they will live their love story in peace.

He wipes away her tears with his thumbs as he stares into her eyes. And he waits as she struggles to find her voice. "I love you," she says with hoarseness in her voice. He knows, but sometimes he just needs to hear it.

They shower first, together, to cleanse themselves of the stickiness of all the fruit they'd ruined. It isn't one of their normal showers, frenzied and filled with passionate sex. This is unhurried, unfrenzied, two lovers gently washing each other.

He steps out of the shower first, quickly drying himself, then holds a clean towel out for her. She steps into his warm embrace and allows him to dry her. No words are exchanged. When he finishes, she drops the towel and continues to the bedroom, where he follows close behind.

She lies on the bed, pulling him on top of her and kissing him. Their tongues dart in and out of each other's mouth and their hands roam over the familiar parts of their bodies. His touch is electricity to her, jolting her heart back to life after being flat for so long. Too long.

Olivia had never been a particular sexual being. She was often far to busy to let herself go and truly experience the wonders of it. She was used to being told she was beautiful, and maybe it was something she took for granted, but words were just words, often discarded when people revealed their true selves.

Though her body needed attention, she found herself taking care of her needs more often than not. She was never the type of woman who could have sex without emotion, although she did it from time to time. It was never enjoyable. It simply...was.

But with him, it is different. Always him. The way he smells. The way he looks at her like she is his goddess, giving her sexual confidence she never knew she possessed. She felt like the most beautiful woman in the world. The way he kisses her takes her breath away. His lips, when they travel to the most sacred place on her body, and his tongue plays with her, well, there are times when she thinks she will pass out.

Tonight, it's Olivia who takes the lead. Rubbing his chest and tugging at his small patch of hair. Letting her tongue taste every part of his upper body, nibbling at his nipples. Going lower. She slides her fingertips down his body, scratching him lightly, allowing them to travel around his thigh until she feels his hardness. She smiles a bit as she wraps her fingers around it.

She always takes a moment to appreciate its beauty. It is the most perfect thing she's ever seen. Its length. Its width, which is almost too big for her hands. Its straightness. She runs an index finger along the top, wiping away the moisture. She brings her index finger to her lips and meets it with her tongue while looking at him dead in his eyes. His breath catches. She knows it drives him crazy.

She takes her time as she licks up the side, right on the vein she loves to worship. Her tongue moves over the top, then back down the side. It's an action she repeats several times, before taking him in her mouth. She responds to his moans, paying close attention to his reactions. His hands find their way to her hair, gently guiding her movements and she submits to his silent demands. As he starts to pump a little harder and his moans become louder, she hums just loudly enough for him to hear, letting the vibrations, combined with her movements and sucking, drive him over the edge. With a final thrust, he releases, closing his eyes as she licks him clean.

She always refused to pleasure a man in the way she pleasures Fitz. She thought it was demeaning and, quite frankly, unsanitary. But with him, she always wants to go further, to increase their connection. With him, she never wants to stop.

She kisses her way back up his body, until her face is directly above his. Still recovering, she smiles as she positions herself over him, hovering just above, forcing him to move his hips up to join their bodies. They both exhale, savoring the moment.

She starts moving first, painfully slowly as his hands make their way up the inside of her thighs, past her stomach, to her breasts where he plays with her nipples. Her head falls back, but he instructs her with that deep tone she loves so much, "Look at me." She does, and what she sees is this pure love for her. For them.

She can't help leaning over and kissing him, taking his bottom lip between hers, as he takes his top between his. It's one of their signature moves, and they kiss and move in sync. As much as he wants to flip her over and take control, he knows she needs this. She needs to move at her pace, do the things that she wants. There will be plenty of time to make love before the real world intrudes again, so he lies back and enjoys her.

He can tell from the way her body moves, she's getting closer. "Liv-"

He doesn't need to finish the sentence as she knows what she wants. She sits up and moves her hand down her body sensually, meeting his fingers at her clit. He puts his finger on top of hers as she touches herself. He takes the lead, and moves her fingers, all the while watching her face contort as she inches closer to climax.

The sounds they make, moaning, the whispering, the screaming, should embarrass them. It doesn't. With no one to hear them, they let themselves go completely. His finger increase her pace, and she moves steadily against his body. She feels the familiar tingle beginning in her toes and it travels up her legs. The room begins to spin as her hair sticks to her face. "Oh god," she screams as her nerves begin to quiver and her orgasm begins to take over. It is as though she is going to split in two as the black dots appear in front of her eyes. Then, the burst. The burst from her body that sends a chill through his, causing him to rise off the bed and takeover, pumping as hard as he can. Moments later, he cums inside of her.

She rests her head on his shoulder as he wraps his arms around her. They stay that way for a long time, whispering promises of their future together. Talking about what will be, no longer wishes and dreams that seem impossible. It's why they fall asleep, clinging to each other. Happy.

The next morning slips into the afternoon, and they're still in bed, exhausted from their many lovemaking sessions of the previous night. She looks over at the clock and back at Fitz, who is smiling at her. "Good morning," he says, pulling her in for another kiss.

"Merry Christmas." His hands start to wander and she playfully slaps him away. She runs toward the shower, "Meet you downstairs in ten."

"Can I join you?"

"Nope. You can make us something with jam. You didn't feed me last night." He raises an eyebrow, "Properly." With that, she's gone.

She stands at the banister, looking down at the tree and their home. It takes her breath away to think that this man did all of this when he thought there was only a possibility for them, not even a promise. Suddenly, Christmas doesn't seem so bad. It is, perhaps, the beginning of her new life.

He looks up at her and smiles, "Santa came."

"Oh he did, did he?" She makes her way down the stairs and takes his hand.

"Yup. Breakfast or presents first?"

"Presents. Hang on," she says as she reaches into her purse, grabbing a couple of packages. "It's hard shopping for the leader of the free world."

"You've already given me the best gift." He kisses the side of her head. "You first."

There are few presents for two people who have every material thing one could want. There is the silk nightie he saw and reminded him of her. The gold bracelet and matching necklace, both tasteful and understated that screamed Olivia Pope to him. And a few other things, like a subscription to the popcorn of the month club and a new "Fitz phone" that he was told was indestructible. But he held one present back.

For him, there is a silver tie clip with his initials engraved on the back and an expensive bottle of scotch that the salesman swore was not only rare, but one of the best. A couple of other odds and ends, but she held one present back.

"What?"

"What? What?"

They both wait for the other to speak. She sighs, "What is it, Fitz?"

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a Tiffany's box and gives it to her. She takes her time untying the ribbon and tossing it to the side. She lifts the lid and gasps when she sees the silver keyring with a single key on it.

"It's the key to our home, Livvie. It's my promise to you." He pulls her toward him and kisses every part of her face, finally landing on her lips where he places the gentlest kiss.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." He stands and makes a move toward the kitchen, but she grabs his hand.

"Wait. I have one more thing for you." She reaches behind her and grabs a final package for him. "It's not much, but it's something I wanted you to have."

Unlike Olivia, he doesn't take his time unwrapping his gift. He rips open the paper and snatches the lid off the box. His next movements are careful as he removes the gold pocket watch, clearly an antique of some sort, from the box.

"It belonged to my grandfather. He gave it to me before I died. He told me to give it to the man I would spend my life with."

"Oh my god," he says when he opens and and sees the picture of the two of them on one side. "Livvie-" he says softly.

"Stop, or you're going to make me cry and I don't like crying in front of you."

"I love you."

She smiles and nods. "Can we have breakfast now?"

"Yes."

The next couple of hours go by quickly. Too quickly. The outside world gradually pierces their bubble. Phones begin to ring, but calls go ignored. Texts come through, but they go unchecked.

But they know they have to go back to their separate lives. But this, Vermont, is theirs alone. It's the promise of upcoming weekends and holidays. Respite from the busy lives they lead.

She hears the sound of the helicopter first. "Your ride."

"You sure you don't want to come with me?" He wants to her to say yes, but they both know if she does, it will make their parting more painful.

"I can't. I'm going to hang out here for awhile. Explore a bit."

He takes her into his arms and pulls her to his body. They stay that way for the longest time. No kissing or hugging or roaming hands. Just feeling each other's warmth and energy. He pulls away and kisses her on her forehead. "Just call me when you're ready to come back. I'll have someone pick you up."

"Okay."

"Lock up when you leave."

"I will. Fitz?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, Livvie. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas. New Year's?"

"I'll meet you here."

And with that, he's gone. She watches as he is the one to board the helicopter this time. She stands at the sliding glass door, following the helicopter with her eyes until she loses sight of it. For the first time in a very long time, there is a sense of hope. A promise of what's to come.

**Author's Note:**

**I thought I was finished writing fan fiction, but I started a dialogue with a reader who encouraged me to try my hand at a little steam. It's completely out of my comfort zone, as is writing a oneshot, but I thought I'd try it. I hope you enjoyed it!**


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